


A Little Darkness

by Jackie Thomas (Jackie_Thomas)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:37:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Thomas/pseuds/Jackie%20Thomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya meet at College</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Darkness

“See you later, guys,” Napoleon said waving off the protests of the group of his classmates round the table. He drained his glass and put on his jacket.

Most Friday nights he would have been happy enough to drink himself into a profound discussion on women, baseball, anything. Tonight, though he only had a few years advantage on them, he felt a lot older than the others. He wanted to get out, go anywhere. He’d settle for home.

Outside it was a mild evening. Autumn was late this year. October, and the days were still lit by a gentle sun and the New England landscape was barely turning itself into gold. It was an evening for making the best of a dying summer and he decided to take the long path through the playing fields and woods to his house. He could pick up his car in the morning.

The lights were on all over campus. Shouting and music echoed across from the dorms and the squares. Not for the first time, he was glad he didn’t live in. Friday nights meant beer drinking marathons, water fights or a raid on the women’s' dorms. He just wasn’t interested.

He wondered when he had got so mature. Normally it didn’t suit him to be alone all the time. He was a sociable person who had spent a couple of happy years at the heart of college life. It had been a relief after the intensity of Korea. But now, apart from the girls for an evening and a night, he found it hard to have anyone else about.

He was so deeply engrossed in these thoughts that he didn’t notice the fight until he had almost stumbled into it. There were four guys from his own year laying into someone, he couldn’t see who, kicking and punching him. It wasn’t like one of the fights that regularly broke out around campus on a Friday night; more threats and bluster than exchanging blows. This was a silent, concentrated, unusually vicious attack.

One of the guys, a jerk called Struther, was kicking the victim in the head. Napoleon reacted instantly, pulling him off and tipping him on to the floor. Then he shoved a second out of the way, pushing him into the first. The other two turned on him but they were both pretty drunk and Napoleon didn't find it difficult to get rid of them. They picked each other up and after hurling some lame threat at Napoleon they went off.

When they were gone he turned his attention to the kid who had been at the bottom of the heap. He was already scrambling to his feet, taking quick breathes and looking around for further danger. 

"Are you OK buddy?" He helped him to gather papers and money that had been scattered on the ground.

The kid looked at Napoleon.

"Yes. I am fine. Thank you." He spoke with a heavy accent.

Napoleon recognised him. He didn’t actually know him but he had noticed him. It would have been hard not to. Firstly because of his looks. Amongst all the infinite variety of faces you saw all day, his fine Slavic features under unruly white blond hair were the only ones that seemed to have been carved by a classical sculptor. Secondly he was the only Russian on campus and people talked about him all the time and thirdly he was always on his own.

"It's Illya, isn't it?"

The kid nodded and began to examine his hand for injury. As the initial shock of the attack wore off he seemed to be noticing he was in pain and Napoleon saw the colour rapidly draining from his face. 

"Let me get you to the infirmary," he said.

"No, I am all right. I just need to...."

"You're kidding right? You look like hell."

An intense blue gaze assessed Napoleon and he saw a little of the defensiveness relax.

"That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in weeks."

"Well then let me..."

Illya started off with painful steps toward the dorms. "I cannot go to the infirmary."

Napoleon began to half-understand why it was important for a lone Russian not to draw too much attention to himself.

“OK then. My car's not far. I'll drive you into town. There's an emergency room there."

Illya didn’t stop walking, “No, I’m perfectly all right."

Napoleon sighed. "No argument. Let’s go." He began to steer Illya, who eventually didn’t resist, toward the parking lot.

Despite Illya's protestations Napoleon sat beside him in the waiting area of the emergency room for several hours. It was a busy night and the place was full of the usual Friday casualties.

It was after four when Illya finally emerged from one of the treatment rooms.

"How did it go?"

"My wrist is sprained. Everything is bruised but nothing is broken. I have to come back if I go blind, throw up or forget who your president is."

Illya’s slight build and outsized thrift store clothes had always made him seem small and young and the effect was accentuated now by a dressing on his face and bruises darkening his skin. But Napoleon detected in the steely pale of his eyes, a resilience and humour that went beyond his years. Something he immediately connected with.

Illya was searching his pockets with his uninjured hand and came out with a pack of cigarettes. They were crushed beyond recognition and he looked at Napoleon with an expression of deep despair.

Napoleon laughed.

"Come on, let's go. I've got some in the car."

In the end Illya fell asleep on the way home with a half-smoked cigarette in his hand murmuring something about some painkillers the doctor had given him which were making him drowsy. Napoleon took the cigarette from him and put it out. Then carried on driving through the wakening countryside to his house.

Illya woke enough to get out of the car and follow Napoleon inside. By the time he flopped on to the bed in the spare room he was already asleep.

Napoleon woke early the next morning as had become his habit. Downstairs the newspaper had been delivered and he set coffee to brew. It was another gift of a sunny day.

The best thing about this draughty, old clapboard ruin of a house was that the back overlooked a large overgrown pond which everyone called the lake. The house stood neglected and alone on the side of the lake that often turned into a swamp and Napoleon had come to love its isolation.

He looked in on Illya who was sleeping soundly, and then took his coffee and paper out onto the balcony. He spent a few hours there until he heard Illya go downstairs. He followed him down into the kitchen.

"How are you doing?"

"Very badly I expect," Illya replied. He was engaged in a detailed dismantling of his cigarette pack to see if any could be salvaged. He shook his hair out of his eyes and looked at Napoleon. For a moment his face was lit and transformed by a smile which just as soon vanished.

"Thank you Napoleon, for what you did. If you hadn’t come along, I don’t know what would have happened."

Napoleon brushed off the thanks and went over to pour Illya a coffee.

"Does that sort of thing happen to you a lot?"

Illya went back to his cigarettes. He shrugged.

"Normally not so bad, normally I can handle it myself. They took me by surprise."

"I heard what happened in the dining halls." He put the coffee in front of Illya and then got himself another.

A friend of his who lived in dorms had told him some jock had shoved Illya so that his hand was scalded by running water from an urn. The jock had got a broken nose for his trouble.

“Yes. That was stupid. I could have been expelled for that."

"You? From what I heard he started it. He had it coming."

Illya finally gave up on the cigarettes as lost and dropped them into the trash. He took some coffee.

"Don't be naïve, Napoleon. I am only here because my tutor at home had a certain amount of influence. Not many people want me to stay. It wouldn’t take much."

Napoleon felt a ripple of anger at the injustice of this.

Illya began putting on his jacket to leave and looking around him. "Have you got this whole house to yourself?"

"Yeah, it’s my aunt's," he replied absently. "Listen Illya, if you need a witness about what happened..."

"I won't. It’s best if it is forgotten."

"You know I'd be real happy to see those guys in shit over this."

"No," Illya said urgently. "You must not say anything. Truly it would cause more harm."

Napoleon assented with a nod but he wasn’t happy. For some reason this incident was bothering him more than it seemed to be bothering its victim. Illya reached across the table and they shook hands.

"Well, give me a call if you need anything."

Illya looked thoughtfully at Napoleon for just a moment and then nodded. "Goodbye."

Napoleon leaned back in his chair listening for the sound of the door closing. He picked up a copper coin lying on the kitchen table and flipped it a few times before realising it was a kopek.

*************

 

A couple of weeks passed without Napoleon seeing anything much of Illya. He did find himself looking out for him though, and wondering whether he ought to call on him to make sure everything was all right.

The question of whether he should do this exercised his mind more than it ought. Would a visit be welcome? Would a phone call be better? He probably had at least a few friends. Not everyone in his class could be hostile or indifferent. Also, he had given no indication such a contact would be welcome, the opposite in fact.

But when he heard the news that Illya’s room had just been broken into for a third time, he headed straight for the dorms.

He found him sitting on the steps of the building in a long grey army coat. His wrist was still bandaged but otherwise the signs of his previous attack had faded. He acknowledged Napoleon with a half-smile.

"Hi. Are you OK?" Napoleon asked.

Illya looked at him quizzically. “That is all you ever seem to ask me."

"That's because you're so accident prone," he joined Illya on the step. “I just heard about your room."

Illya shrugged. "They put my bed out on the fire escape. It’s nothing."

Napoleon couldn’t imagine himself in a similar situation responding in such a serene manner. In fact he didn’t really believe in Illya’s. He was more convinced by the anger he detected in Illya’s eyes than his external calm. Illya read his mind.

"It really doesn't matter," he said quietly.

All the things Napoleon wanted to say were a variation of 'are you all right?' so he didn’t say anything. Finally, though, the idea that had been hanging around at the edge of his consciousness for the past two weeks clarified itself into words.

"Hey, why don't you move in with me?"

"Are you serious?" Illya replied, but his interest had obviously been captured.

"Sure. The place is a dump but there's an empty room and you can get out of this zoo."

Illya frowned. "And this will be allowed?"

"Of course, why not?"

Illya wavered and then finally said. “Yes, OK.”

They grinned at each other for a moment. Then Napoleon slapped him on the back. "Come on then, let’s get your stuff."

Illya’s eyes widened. "Now?"

Napoleon pulled him up. "Yes now, or do you want to stand in a queue for a few hours first?"

"Oh, funny American."

It didn’t take them long to pack Illya's few clothes and possessions into his suitcase and put them in the back of Napoleon's car.

They stopped on the way to pick up a bottle of vodka for housewarming and before long Napoleon was showing Illya the best way to get the front door open when it jammed shut and the best way to get the kitchen faucets to turn off when they jammed open.

Finally he showed him the French windows in his room which opened out on to the bare wooden balcony. A previous roommate had refused point blank to go out there because it was so rickety but Illya was as captivated by it as Napoleon could have wished.

It was a clear night and there was a full moon reflecting on the lake in a perfect disc. Illya leaned on the rail to take it in.

"Do you see the bats?" Napoleon asked. Illya looked questioningly at him. "You can just glimpse them. It’s like a little of the darkness falling away and spinning across the water. Sometimes you get fooled into thinking there are hundreds, sometimes you don’t even see one."

"So how can you know if what you are seeing is true?"

"I guess you don't."

"This evening, before you came," Illya said without turning. "I was thinking about giving up and going home."

"And now?"

"Now, I think I shall stay."

Napoleon smiled. "That calls for a drink."

They sat side by side out on the balcony against the windows late into the night. They worked their way through the bottle, first talking, catching up on their pasts and then in more or less silence.

Napoleon soon knew he had done the right thing in asking Illya to move in. He quickly became accustomed to smoking the cheap Polish cigarettes Illya seemed to have an endless supply of and he soon came to associate the smell of strong black tea brewing on the stove with home. Within a few days he felt as if they had known each other all their lives. Though it was virtually impossible to know what Illya was thinking, and he certainly never said, Napoleon believed he felt the same way.

***************

Late one snowy February evening Napoleon was lying on the couch listening to a jazz record and lazily examining the Cyrillic characters on the kopek he had taken to carrying about with him. Illya was not back yet but this was not unusual, it was often his habit to study until the library closed at ten.

The music, so delicate and full of yearning began to lull him to sleep. He found himself wishing Illya were there to listen with him. Imagined Illya next to him, imagined him curled into his arms, imagined the softness of his hair against his face...

Napoleon forced himself awake. He had been catching himself with these thoughts all too often. Even with the period of strenuous dating he had been putting himself through recently, he hadn’t been able to make them go away. He put the record back to the beginning of the song. He had done this so often it now began with a jump. "Love me, say you do."

Just then he heard Illya opening the front door. When he came into the living room Napoleon took one look at him and said, "Jesus Illya what happened?"

"It’s finished. It’s finished now," was all he said. He was shivering and his coat and hair were soaked through as if he had fallen in the snow.

Napoleon took Illya's files from him and pulled off his coat. He steered him toward the fire.

"Sit down. Tell me what happened. No wait...” and he went to get the remains of the whisky they had been drinking the night before and a couple of glasses. When he came back Illya was warming his hands by the fire.

He passed him a drink and then emptied what was left of the bottle into his own glass.

"Did you get jumped again?"

Illya nodded. "Out by the library. Same group as last time."

"You hurt?" he asked calmly though by now he was furious.

"Of course not," Illya snapped. "That's not the point." He turned away from the fire. "Napoleon, I think I broke Struther's arm."

"Really?" Napoleon grinned. "That's good isn't it?"

“No. It’s a disaster. It means I will have to go home."

Napoleon quickly saw what Illya was getting at. Who was going to believe the Russian's version of events against Struther and his friends? Especially as Struther’s father was a wealthy man and a generous contributor to the college. It would be a perfect excuse to send Illya home early. They listened to the crackling of the record finishing.

"How do you know you broke his arm?" Illya stared into his cup as if seeing the fight re-enacted in the golden liquid.

“I heard it go. He had his arm against my neck and I grabbed it to get him off me and there was this cracking sound. Next thing he's on the floor howling. Couldn’t be anything else Napoleon."

"I'm not going to let them send you away," Napoleon said before he could stop himself.

Illya looked at him in mild surprise and then said. "Don't get involved. These are powerful people and you will only harm yourself for nothing."

Napoleon made efforts to swallow his anger. "Hey, you know, this may even come to nothing," he said with unconvincing cheeriness. "Look, why don't you go take a shower and warm up." He gestured to the empty bottle. "I'll go and get another one of these."

But before Napoleon had got out of the house there was a knocking at the door.

He opened it and found a police officer from town. The bastards had called the cops in. He was peering at his notebook.

"Good evening sir. Officer Alexander. Are you Mr is it Kary..Kury, whatever the hell?"

"Kuryakin. No. But he’s here. Come in. He’s just upstairs taking a shower."

The cop was an older man, maybe in his fifties. He had a seen-it-all face and his uniform stretched over a comfortable gut. Napoleon showed him into the living room and he took in the shabby surroundings with an appraising eye.

"You a student too?"

"Yes sir."

"What's your name?"

"Napoleon Solo."

The cop chuckled. "Napoleon, huh? Mind if I sit down?" He settled himself into the armchair and carefully printed Napoleon's name in his notebook. “Have the pair of you considered changing your names? It might save you a lot of trouble. Sit down, sit down."

Napoleon did as he was told. He immediately began to feel better; this didn’t seem such a bad guy.

"We got a report from a friend of some kid called Struther saying he got jumped by Kury.. what do you call him..?"

"Kuryakin."

"Yeah, on campus. I just seen him in the hospital getting plastered up. He’s pretty pissed off, wants your buddy arrested for an unprovoked attack."

"An unprovoked attack on four people?" Napoleon said incredulously.

"Uh-uh," said the cop. "No one said anything about that. He told me one to one."

"Well there were four and it wasn't the first time," said Napoleon, unintentionally raising his voice.

"OK, start from the beginning there Mr Napoleon."

Napoleon gave an account of the attack he had witnessed and Illya’s injuries. He also told him, as far as he knew, what had just happened.

"So, did your buddy report this to anyone the first time?" Napoleon shook his head.

"He was trying to stay out of trouble. He doesn’t want to get sent home.” The cop nodded thoughtfully, he seemed to understand. "The hospital in town will probably have a record though. They sorted him out."

“OK, that's good. I’ll check it out.”

Illya came in just then. He was wearing a pair of grey sweats Napoleon had given him which were far too big. He looked paler and thinner even than usual and the effect seemed to bring out some paternal instinct in the policeman.

“You OK there son?" Illya nodded surprised. He was obviously expecting to be arrested.

“Yes, sir. I think so."

“You want to sit down and tell me what happened?"

He took down Illya’s statement word by word, also asking him a little about the history. Finally he closed his notebook.

“You want to make a complaint against these boys?" He asked. He seemed to have made up his mind where the truth of the story lay.

"Yes," said Napoleon.

"No," said Illya firmly. "I want no action to be taken."

Officer Alexander left promising to keep in touch and leaving Illya with a glimmer of hope.

 

***********

 

They sat up late sharing a new bottle of vodka and then both woke up early, still a little drunk but anxious to get on to campus to see if there were any messages.

There was nothing for them though and they went to get some breakfast in the cafeteria.

After they had eaten, Napoleon saw Illya’s expression darken and he turned to see Struther come in. He was with his girlfriend and another dark-haired girl. His arm was in a sling and he was as unshaven and tired looking as they but he was not one to miss an opportunity to show off. He came over to where Illya and Napoleon were sitting.

“Hey Kuryakin, didn’t the cops bring you in yet? You know you broke my fucking arm?"

Illya didn’t reply, simply turned his gaze out into the square where a light snow was beginning to fall. Napoleon was more inclined to argue.

"What's the matter Struther? Haven’t you had enough?" he said. "Do you want me to break the other one for you?" Illya flashed him a warning glare.

“Yeah you should just try it," Struther spat. "Then I can get you and your Commie boyfriend both expelled."

Without thinking Napoleon was up and twisting Struther's uninjured arm behind his back, holding him with an arm around his neck.

"Really? You really want me to try it? It'd be a pleasure."

Illya was on his feet instantly and the dark-haired girl, watching the scene unfold, put her hand to her mouth. The cafeteria lady started yelling. "Take it outside you two."

"Get off me, get off me," Struther shouted.

Napoleon let go of him, fearing he might actually hurt him.

“You’re going to regret that Solo," Struther said petulantly once Napoleon had sat back down.

Napoleon stood again, knocking over his chair. Struther backed away and Illya put himself between them.

“Don’t talk about it, do it,” Napoleon challenged over Illya’s shoulder. "Or does it have to be four against one?"

Struther retreated to a stall where the girls had taken a seat and Napoleon picked up his chair and sat back down. After a moment Illya did too. Napoleon once again felt Illya’s unwavering gaze upon him. It was as if he was looking at him for the first time.

"That was not necessary Napoleon," he said.

"I know, but it was fun."

"This is not your fight."

"Of course it is."

Illya seemed taken aback at these words. Eventually he said, “I have never known a friendship like yours." And Napoleon watched the way Illya swept aside hair that fell across his face and knew with a sudden dull certainty that he must commit to memory the mannerisms of a friend who would soon be lost.

Napoleon had made up his mind not to let Illya out of his sight today. Which was why he spent the next two hours outside one of the science labs. He would have gone in with him but Illya managed to convince him he was safe with the Advanced Physics crowd.

After class they checked for messages without any luck and then headed back home in case any had gone there. They were getting the mail out of the box just as Officer Alexander’s car drew up.

"Afternoon boys," he called out to them. When they were inside he took his place in the armchair and invited them to sit on the couch.

“It’s not good news I’m afraid," he said. “I checked out your story with the other boys and they came up with witnesses. Two girls who can say they were with the three boys at the time of the fight. I just took a statement from one of them, Struther’s girlfriend."

"Do you believe her?" Napoleon asked.

Officer Alexander hesitated and then said. "To be honest with you, no. But my Sergeant does and that’s what counts."

"So what happens now?" Illya asked evenly.

"Once all the paperwork’s processed, I’ll give you a call and you need to come to the station to be arrested and charged. Then a court date will be set but obviously that will only happen if you’re still in the country."

“Have you made a report to the Dean?" Napoleon asked.

“We always do when there’s a case involving students. Of course, this time Mr Struther beat us to it."

When Napoleon had shown the policeman out he found Illya reading a letter that had just come in the mail. "This isn't over Illya," he said.

“Yes it is." Illya handed the letter to Napoleon. It was from the Dean who regretted to advise that Mr Kuryakin was expelled without notice for bringing the name of the college into disrepute.

Without a word Napoleon left the house and took the car back onto campus. He refused to accept the injustice of this, didn’t want to see his faith in the system completely destroyed, couldn’t bear to lose....

He found the Dean in his office and threw the letter down in front of him.

“You can't do this."

The Dean slowly examined the letter and then just as slowly examined Napoleon.

"This is not your affair, Mr Solo."

"That's not an answer."

“Really Mr Solo, I think it’s perfectly reasonable to take action against someone who goes about breaking other students' arms."

"And if Struther broke Illya’s arm would he be getting a letter like this?" The Dean didn’t even pause.

"Every situation is different. Every case is treated on its merits."

"In other words, no." Napoleon was only barely controlling his temper and he had succeeding in annoying the older man to the same extent.

“To have accepted a Soviet citizen here in this political climate was frankly a mistake. It’s clear he hasn’t been able to adapt to his surroundings. It’s clear he hasn’t settled in. I have to protect my students."

"That's bullshit and you know it. Your students just saw him as a target as soon as he arrived. What did you do to protect him? Or isn’t his father rich enough for him to be worth bothering with?"

“Yes well, perhaps you have been spending too much time with a communist. I must say if you came here to change my mind you’re going the wrong way about it, Mr Solo.”

Napoleon slumped into a chair and said quietly. "Then is there anything I can do? Please."

“You should go home and say goodbye to your friend," the Dean replied coolly. "His visa expires as soon as his education finishes. And it has finished, I assure you."

When Napoleon returned home Illya was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, the jazz album playing low next to him. His knees were drawn up and one arm hugged them, a cigarette in his other hand slowly burned out. Napoleon had to stop and look it was such a perfectly composed scene of melancholy.

Illya turned as he came into the room and must have read Napoleon’s expression.

"So how's the rescue mission going?"

"Wait'll you hear my plan," he said sadly and sat on the couch behind Illya. He realised that if he wasn’t careful he was going to cry.

Eventually Illya uncurled himself and turned to face Napoleon. His expression was as impassive as ever but his eyes were blue flames. On his knees in front of him, without warning, Illya took Napoleon into his arms.

"It's OK, it really is," he whispered, holding him tightly. "Not the end of the world, not even close."

Then just as quickly he let go, going back to his examination of the flickering gas fire and leaving Napoleon reeling. It took Napoleon a while to compose himself. He had never been hugged by another man outside of a sports field. More to the point he had never been hugged by Illya. Finally he was able to trust himself to hold a conversation.

"What will you do?"

"Get out as soon as possible. If I can leave without a record of being arrested I might be able to come back at some time in the future."

“And when you get home?"

Here Illya faltered. "Hopefully I can get back on my old course at the University of Georgia. If not there’s always the army again."

"Shit Illya. You think they might not have you back?"

Illya shrugged. "If I hadn’t made so much of a mess of this I might have stood a better chance." Illya turned, smiling his typically hesitant smile. “Napoleon. Shall we get really drunk tonight?"

*****************

That night they fulfilled a long-held ambition to drink all of the top shelf of the bar alphabetically. Although the actual order of the alphabet became a subject of dispute somewhere around V and they ended up having vermouth after whisky they still considered it a successful mission.

The next day started sometime in the early afternoon when Napoleon found himself waking with an odd sense of displacement and a conviction that someone was hitting the inside of his head with a hammer. Opening his eyes it took him a moment to figure out he was on the living room floor looking straight into the glare of the bare bulb which hung from the ceiling. It took a little longer to realise that the object he held tightly in his arms was Illya. Illya, warm against him, fast asleep, his face buried in Napoleon’s shoulder.

He had no idea how they had got home or how they had got in to this particular unusual situation. It was all very surprising. Though he noted, with mixture of relief and regret, they both had all of their clothes on. Illya began to stir but, for the moment, Napoleon couldn’t see a reason to let go of him.

Illya lifted his head and peered at Napoleon in some confusion before lying back down.

"Napoleon?" He said sleepily.

"Illya?" he replied, managing only a whisper.

“I think I’ve gone blind.”

“Have you tried opening your eyes?"

"Da. All I see is a white light."

"That'll be the 'g' for gasoline. You Ukrainians will drink anything."

“Napoleon?”

"Yes Illya?"

"Where am I?"

“Don’t ask me," he reluctantly loosened his hold of his friend, he felt he ought to. "How should I know?"

"Don't," whispered Illya. “Don’t let go."

Napoleon felt his heart break. He held tightly to Illya as if he could be blown away. “Illya, please don’t go."

When he next opened his eyes he was by himself with only the warm memory of Illya’s touch. The light had mercifully been switched off and the gas fire on. He looked at his watch, it was a little before two. He assumed in the afternoon.

Illya came in from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee and a bottle of aspirin. He sat down on the floor next to Napoleon but didn’t speak or meet his gaze. Napoleon leaned against the armchair to swallow a pill and drink his coffee. He watched Illya as he lit the last cigarette in the pack which they shared in silence.

“I have to sort my travel out," Illya said finally.

“Yeah, I know," Napoleon rubbed his forehead, attempting to focus his thoughts. "We'll have to go on campus to pick up the car."

Eventually they gathered the energy to begin the walk. The usual noises of distant traffic, of the woods and farmland and of the breezes blowing through the trees and grasses all seemed to have been silenced as they walked together. In the whole world the only sound was their footsteps in the new fall of snow.

Before they went into town, Illya needed to use the phone in the school of physics. He had to report what had happened to the Soviet embassy in New York City. Napoleon listened with his head against a nice cool window as Illya had a quick but intense conversation in Russian, guiltily immersing himself in the lilt to his voice as he spoke his native language. When Illya got off the phone the school secretary bustled in.

"I've got a message for a Mr Karaoke. I assume that's you Illya. It’s from...”

"Officer Alexander?" Napoleon guessed.

"Why yes. He wants you to go in to see him at the police station right away."

"Wow, he didn’t waste much time," Illya said gloomily.

“We could pretend you didn’t get the message," Napoleon suggested, turning away from the glass but sitting carefully down on the ledge. "Give you a chance to get out of town."

Illya shook his head. “The way my luck goes they would probably send a posse after me.” He headed slowly for the door, pulling Napoleon with him by his coat sleeve. “What is a posse, Napoleon? Is it some kind of cat?"

"Hmm? Yes."

Illya stood outside the police station for a while gathering his courage. He was too dazed and nervous to object when Napoleon straightened the collar on his coat and tried to flatten out the disorder of his hair. Not that it would make any difference.

The station was a small building on one floor. Behind the front desk there was an open-plan office crowded with file-cluttered desks. Officer Alexander was at a desk behind a typewriter, typing with a finger of each hand. When he saw them he got up and went to the front desk bellowing cheerfully.

"Ah, here they are. Napoleon and Josephine."

Illya muttered darkly in Russian.

"Boy, you two look in great shape." He brought them in to sit at his desk and surprisingly announced. "Got some good news for you today. One of the alibi witnesses, one of the girls, came in this morning to make a statement. She said those boys had asked her and her friend to lie about where they all were that evening. She had gone along with it because she thought they were just covering for someone two-timing their girlfriend or something like that. But when she saw an altercation on campus yesterday morning she realised what it was really about and came straight in to see me. Restores your faith a little huh?"

Illya looked at him in amazement. "So what does this mean?"

"It means you're off the hook." Illya looked blankly at Napoleon, his English for once deserting him. Napoleon smiled.

"It means it's over," he said gently.

“Yeah, I’ve told your Dean Fatass too. I agreed not to charge the lot of them with wasting police time if you got your place in school back."

Napoleon watched with pleasure as Illya’s face broke into a delighted smile. Could it really be this easy?

“It must be that dark haired girl that came in with Struther yesterday morning," he said. The policeman nodded.

“Yeah, that's her. Nice girl."

When they had profusely thanked Officer Alexander and left the station Napoleon completely forgot himself and hugged Illya right there on the sidewalk. Illya beaming away didn’t seem to mind.

“I have to phone the embassy and tell them it was a false alarm," he said suddenly. "I'd better do that now from the post office."

When he had made the call he looked a little concerned. “I just had a weird conversation. I don’t think the administrator believed me.”

“We can get you some letters done to prove the case is dropped - from the police and the college," Napoleon suggested. Illya nodded and then evidently decided he wasn’t going to let this possible new problem bother him.

They went back on to campus to find the dark haired girl and thank her. They promised to take her out to celebrate at some point in the future but just now the previous night was catching up with them and there was nothing for it but to go home and go to sleep. It was six o’clock.

Napoleon woke to moonlight shining in through the bedroom windows. He must have forgotten to draw the curtains. He looked at the time, it was 1.30 and he was wide-awake.

Getting out of bed he saw a figure out on the balcony. Illya. He was huddled in his coat and sitting in his usual place against the windows.

Napoleon pulled on some clothes and his coat and opened the French window. The moon was full again, a perfect disc reflected on the water. Napoleon thought it strange that it was the same moon as had been there a lifetime ago in late summer, when Illya had just moved in.

"What are you doing out here? It’s freezing."

"Bat-spotting," was the whispered reply. Napoleon stepped outside; it was snow-cold and chilled him instantly.

"See any?"

Illya didn’t turn. “It’s hard to say. You know, when it feels like a little of the darkness has fallen away but more than likely it’s just an illusion and not to be trusted. That's what you said, didn’t you?"

“No, I said you could never be really certain. But that doesn’t necessarily make it an illusion. It could just as likely be true." Napoleon slid down next to Illya. Almost of its own accord his hand came out to push away an errant falling of hair from Illya’s face, his fingers lingering on the fine gold. He had wanted to do this for so long and suddenly he felt he could afford to wait no longer.

“Have you ever been in love, Napoleon?"

“No, I don’t think so." He paused. "But it’s a word that’s been on my mind a lot lately."

Illya looked at him. Again, that odd appraising stare.

“I was once." He turned his attention back to the moon. "When I was doing, what do you call it? My National Service. I thought I would die I was so happy."

Napoleon smiled, he liked the thought of Illya happy.

"Who was she?"

"He." Illya glanced at him and then away again. "Do you mind?"

“No,” Napoleon answered. He could scarcely even breathe. “It makes this a lot easier." He touched Illya’s face with the tips of his fingers, turning it slightly to kiss him.

Their lips had barely touched. The kiss was over as soon as it started, interrupted by a pounding on the front door.

"Ignore it," Napoleon whispered. He didn’t believe it was possible to give his attention to anything but Illya’s face, hands, lips, body.

But the pounding continued and Illya finally said, “I will see who it is.”

Voices were calling in Russian to be let in and Illya opened the door. There were two men in suits and coats.

The long discussion that followed meant nothing to Napoleon but he could see the exchange getting steadily more heated.

“What’s going on?" he asked eventually. Loudly enough to stop the argument in its tracks.

Illya turned to him as angry as he had ever seen him.

“They are from the embassy. They think I am trying to defect. They say if I don’t go with them voluntarily they will take me by force." His accent had thickened in speaking his own language.

"Tell them to wait until morning,” Napoleon said. “It can easily be sorted out then."

“What do you think I’m doing?"

The argument resumed until it was finally ended when one of the men opened his jacket to reveal a gun in a holster.

"Jesus, is he going to shoot you?”

“He might." Illya said something to the man and the gun vanished under the jacket.

“What did you say?" Napoleon asked afraid of the answer.

“I said, I’m going to pack." And he headed upstairs.

Napoleon followed him to his room, pulling him round by the shoulders.

"Illya?" He exclaimed. He couldn’t believe this was happening again.

Illya shook him off. “I’ve got no choice." He pulled his suitcase out from under the bed and began throwing his things into it.

"Stop this, talk to them."

“It won’t do any good. They have orders to bring me back and they will."

Napoleon could only stand and watch helplessly but when everything was packed Illya almost threw himself into his arms.

"I love you," Napoleon murmured burying his face into Illya’s hair. The words he had often struggled over coming easily and unrehearsed. "Write me and tell me you’re safe."

“I will be safe but I won’t be able to write. Not for a long time. It is better you forget about me.” He stammered over these last words.

“No, we are going to see each other again. I know it.” Illya looked searchingly into his eyes.

“You know this? Or perhaps you just wish for it. Sometimes the darkness is just darkness."

 

Napoleon watched as the black car slowly traversed the gravel path away from the house. His hand in his coat pocket closed around the kopek. He suddenly realised it was all he had left of Illya. Unmoving for a long time he listened until he could no longer hear the car engine above the gentle wash of the water against the bank. He stayed there until he felt the blood in his veins had turned into ice and then went inside where he sat at the kitchen table and put his head in hands.

*****************

Epilogue - Before we were so rudely interrupted...

It wasn’t until darkness finally fell that Napoleon could safely risk climbing the perimeter wall out of WASP headquarters, USSR.

He had concealed himself in the grounds for hours hearing the footsteps of guards pass close by at regular intervals. Dumb Solo luck seemed to be the only thing to have prevented his discovery.

He had been unable to completely stop the flow of blood from his injured arm and had little strength left when he finally began the climb. The wall seemed to have grown by several feet since he had last climbed it in the early hours of the morning and he fell the final few feet onto the soft earth on the other side.

He covered a lot of ground through the forest away from the building as quickly as he was able to and then activated his distress signal. There was a local agent, code-named White Fox, waiting for the signal and they would hopefully now find each other.

He leaned against a tree to catch his breath. Briefly checking that the microfilm carrying the WASP codes was still hidden and secure behind the lapel of his jacket and for good luck he fingered the Soviet coin he always carried. Then, steadying himself he carried on north toward the road.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he had to stop again. He supported himself against a tree desperately hanging on to consciousness, no longer able to shake off the buzzing in his head and the dark blotches before his eyes. When he heard the lightest disturbance of the forest floor he knew someone was coming. He put his hand on his weapon but hoped to god it was White Fox.

As they didn’t know each other or their real names they had a code to exchange. He heard the words he was listening for and remembered to say his own part as supporting arms caught him and the darkness closed in.

When he came round he was lying on the ground and seemed to be safe. The wound on his arm was tightly bandaged but he still felt light-headed and worse, he was hallucinating.

The man looking down at him seemed to have Illya’s face. A little older and perhaps a little more respectable. Wild eyes calmed, hair more or less restrained. The image was definitely wobbly but no amount of refocusing would stop it being Illya. Finally he had to ask.

“Illya?”

“Napoleon, is it really you?”

The accent was less pronounced than he remembered it but the voice was the same. There was one way to settle this. He reached out a hand to touch his hair and was immediately transported back to a balcony in New England on a winter night.

"Bat-spotting," he said, saying the first two words that came to mind.

"Are you?" Illya’s expression formed into the almost-smile that Napoleon had missed so much. He felt Illya’s hand, cool against his forehead. “See any?”

“Hmm? Oh yes. Hundreds

“Are you sure? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

“Definitely.”  
End

August 2000


End file.
